


The Ambergris Incident

by Plenoptic



Series: The Indecent Reign of Maestro da Vinci [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Anal Sex, Aphrodisiacs, Leo stop, M/M, Rough Sex, Volpelli, what's editing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-01-14
Packaged: 2018-03-07 12:57:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Plenoptic/pseuds/Plenoptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Volpe and Machiavelli experiment with a witch's brew designed to increase one's... appetites.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ambergris Incident

**Author's Note:**

> Got a kink you want Leonardo to suggest? Leave a comment!

“...Leonardo?”

“Leonardo.”

Machiavelli raised his eyebrows, looking dubiously at the whitish powder Volpe was adding generously to their wine. “The breadth of that man’s knowledge terrifies me.”

“As well it should.” Volpe grinned, passing his lover a glass of wine, full to the brim, and toasted him. “To you, _tesoro_. And to Maestro da Vinci, lover of a thousand men.”

“Hm.” Machiavelli sniffed his wine, took a cautious sip, and set it back down. “There.”

“Ah, love—I think a touch more is required before you’ll feel the effects.”

The politician pursed his lips. “What is this concoction, again?”

“Ambergris is, I believe, the primary component. After that, it’s all flowers and herbs.”

“A witch’s brew designed to—”

“Heighten one’s appetite for love, yes.” Volpe’s smile was brilliantly white, so wide it threatened to consume his handsome features.

“Are you not hungry enough as it is?”

“It’s not _my_ appetite that’s lacking.”

Machiavelli scowled. “The problem is lack of time, not lack of wanting.” He reached across the bed to rest a hand on Volpe’s knee, brushing a thumb along the joint and arching his eyebrows. “You know that.”

“Yes, yes,” the thief sighed, taking Niccolò’s hand and bringing his knuckles to his mouth. “Think of it as an experiment.”

An experiment. Well, then. Machiavelli lifted his glass and drank, draining half in one go before setting it down with a cough, the dry wine stinging at the back of his throat and adhering his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Volpe smiled at him, leaning forward to kiss his bare shoulder (Machiavelli was somewhat bemusedly spending more time shirtless, as per his lover’s request) before swinging his legs off the bed and striding across the room to his lover’s bookshelf.

“Now, then. Dante, perhaps?”

“What?”

“ _Inferna_ relaxes you.” Volpe rejoined him on the bed, setting the thick leather-bound book in Niccolò’s lap. “Read while the substance takes effect. You haven’t been reading much lately.”

Machiavelli accepted the book with a quirked eyebrow. “You don’t want to do something together? After all this complaining about how we’ve not had enough time for ourselves?”

“We have all night,” Volpe said, kissing him sweetly on the mouth. “Relax.”

Well, Niccolò was hardly going to complain. Most of his reading time was interrupted by Volpe wanting to play, or eat, or fuck, or all three at once. Being _told_ to read by his needy lover was a rare treat. The younger man propped the book open in his lap, watching Volpe putter around their shared bedchamber, sipping his wine and admiring a Botticelli on the wall.

“Have you acquired a taste for art, Gilberto?”

“No. I don’t understand it in the least.” Volpe looked back at him and shrugged. “But you like it, so I thought I’d give it a try, at least.”

Niccolò snorted. “How courteous. I will do better to explore your interests as well. Tomorrow perhaps I shall practice cutting purse strings.”

“You charming boy. Drink more.”

The young man drained his glass. “Another?”

“So soon?”

“You underestimate me.”

Volpe rolled his eyes, crossing the room to pour his lover a second glass. “Has anyone ever suggested that you may have a problem?”

Niccolò laughed long and hard, tossing himself sideways across the bed and grinning up at his companion. “I’m the youngest member of the Signoria of Florence. My salary doesn’t cover my most basic expenses. My parents are both gone, leaving me in charge of our family’s estates and finances, about which I know nothing. I’m an assassin in a dying brotherhood, a double agent in the court of Rodrigo Borgia, and I’m in love with a man who has a thousand florin bounty on his head. A few too many glasses of wine are the least of my problems.”

“I hope that last one burdens you just as little.”

“Gilberto, you are perhaps the _greatest_ of my problems.”

“And yet here you are,” Volpe murmured, caressing his lover’s jaw, his smile gentle now, devoid of mischief.

“Yes. Here I am.” Niccolò tugged him down for a slow kiss, humming and sliding his hands into the thief’s dark hair.

Volpe drew back just a little, lips teasing his mouth. “Hm? Are you feeling it yet?”

“I don’t think so. I just wanted to kiss you.” Machiavelli kissed him again, licking at his lover’s mouth and pouting when he was gently rejected. “What?”

“Let’s wait,” Volpe said softly, lowering his head to kiss the boy's cheek. “The longer we hold back, the sweeter it will be.”

Machiavelli huffed but loosened his grip on the older man, scowling after him when he got to his feet and resumed his lazy exploration of their bedchamber. “Fine. But you’re insufferable.”

“Mm.” Volpe flashed him that wide, self-satisfied smile. “And yet here you are…”

Niccolò rolled his eyes and settled back down against the bed. Keeping his attention focused on his book was a struggle; Volpe made a pretty picture by the candlelight, his lithe body at ease. He picked up a book and flipped it open, perusing it with the slightest of smiles on his face, and Niccolò felt his breath catch low in his chest, want making him feel heated and uncomfortable. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, biting his lower lip and letting his legs fall open, relieving the growing pressure in his crotch.

“Gilberto…”

“Hm?” The thief glanced up from his book briefly—and then looked up again, slowly, his eyebrows arching. “Oh. Hello.” He let the book fall to the desk, taking a few hesitant steps toward the bed, his eyes surveying his young lover with open want.

Niccolò grinned. “Do you feel it?”

“If I didn’t before, I certainly do now…” Volpe leant his weight against the frame of the bed’s canopy, brushing a thumb over Niccolò’s mouth before letting his hand wander downward, tracing his lover’s throat, collar, chest...

Machiavelli closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, arching into his lover’s soft touches. He supposed it was just the aphrodisiac kicking in, but every caress was like fire against his skin, igniting him. Flames licked at his insides, made his breath hot and his skin boil. He was hard in what felt like mere moments, lifting his hips and biting his lips just at the sensation of his erection rubbing against his hose.

Volpe groaned quietly and leaned over to kiss him. The older man’s tongue was warm and wet, soft against his, and Niccolò found himself moaning into his lover’s mouth, tugging on his hood and hair, trying to pull him closer. His head swam, his thoughts disjointed. He couldn’t process anything that wasn’t Gilberto, didn’t want to.

The thief finally acquiesced and joined him on the bed. They rolled and tumbled over the sheets, their kiss turning animalistic, almost savage. Niccolò pinned his lover and kissed him until he felt raw, bit Volpe’s lower lip until he drew blood. Volpe snarled and flipped him over, leaving rough bites against the younger man’s throat, sucking on him until he bruised and then bled. A hand snuck beneath their entwined bodies to grip Machiavelli’s ass and pull his hips closer so Volpe could grind against him.

“Oh, _God_.”

“Good?” Volpe panted.

“Undress me.”

The thief obeyed without hesitation, stripping off Niccolò’s hose and dropping his head to wrap his mouth around the leaking tip of the boy's cock, moaning when his young lover bucked up against him. Niccolò seized a handful of Volpe’s hair and pulled his head down further, fucking himself hard into his lover’s throat, gasping his pleasure against the mattress. Volpe pinned his hips with one strong arm, growling and placing his teeth threateningly against the base of Niccolò’s cock when the boy struggled. Niccolò stilled, resigned, and let Volpe resume his torturously slow mouthing.

“Good boy,” Volpe murmured, tongue replacing his teeth. He was struggling out of his hose, freeing his own hard cock, taking himself in hand and stroking firmly. Niccolò moaned at the sight, hands fisting in the sheets above his head, fighting to keep his hips still when Volpe took him deeply again and sucked him. The sounds coming from his mouth were deliciously wet and erotic, hot little groans muffled by the cock against his tongue. Niccolò ran a trembling hand through his lover’s hair, pushing it back so he could watch his length disappear down that eager throat, and Volpe moaned and pulled himself harder.

“Come here,” Machiavelli said shakily, and the thief pulled back at once, climbing the younger man’s body before taking him in his arms and kissing him soundly. They ground together, forgetting to remove the rest of Volpe’s clothes; the friction between them was too good, slicked by the precum leaking from their swollen pricks. Niccolò pushed himself up on his elbows, looking down at the erotic mesh of their bodies. Something about watching it happen, pairing the vivid sensations with the visuals, was so unapologetically hedonistic that Niccolò was hard pressed not to come then and there.

“Harder,” Volpe whispered, his lips hot against Machiavelli’s throat, breathing ragged. Machiavelli could only oblige him, rolling the older man onto his back before thrusting against him, pushing his tunic up and grinding his own weeping length along the hard ridges of Volpe’s abdomen. Gilberto moaned and rolled his hips, seeking friction, and Machiavelli took them both in hand, rubbing just a little too hard against Volpe’s tip.

“I want you to come.” He trapped Volpe’s wrists in his free hand and pinned them above his head. “I want to see you come all over yourself. I want to see you filthy, debauched.”

“Wh—hn— _tesoro_ —”

“Mm. No.” Machiavelli stopped, ignoring Volpe’s need and fucking himself against the thief’s body, licking his lips. “My name.”

“Niccolò.”

“Louder.”

The thief’s violet eyes flashed, teeth bared in a snarl. Obscenity in bed was his forte, his little game, and Machiavelli delighted in stealing it from him, making that power his own. He smiled languidly, tightening his grip on Volpe’s wrists when the thief struggled and ground down harder.

“I’m perfectly happy to take my pleasure from you. You know I am. But you, _mio caro_ , are not coming until you’ve cried out my name.”

“I don’t need it,” Volpe said, and then snapped his jaw shut, looking horrified.

“Oh, you don’t?” Machiavelli pursed his lips, stopping his rutting for a moment to quirk an eyebrow and look down at the erection standing up rudely between Volpe’s thighs. “Hm. Because you look like you need it very, very much.” He shrugged, tracing a fingertip in lazy circles around the head of Volpe’s cock, smirking when the thief snarled and lifted his hips, seeking a firmer touch. “But what do I know? I’m just a boy, after all, and you’re the expert on fucking.”

“Niccolò…”

“Not good enough.”

“Fuck me already!”

“I didn’t hear ‘please.’”

“I’m not begging, you son of—” Volpe broke off with a shuddering moan when Machiavelli crawled a little higher up his body, pushing his tunic aside and grinding his length against Volpe’s midriff, smearing his skin with precum. Niccolò closed his eyes, making a few lazy undulations of his hips, testing his new playground. When he rocked back just right, the tip of Volpe’s hard cock teased his entrance. He felt his lover buck beneath him, aching to be within, to penetrate, but hell if Machiavelli wasn’t going to have his way first.

“What?” he crooned, shifting his hips forward, out of his lover’s desperate reach, and relishing Volpe’s frustrated growl. “You want to fuck me?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Volpe snarled, writhing beneath the younger man.

“Beg for me, then.”

“Like hell!”

Machiavelli sighed, mock-disappointed, and sat up a little higher, brushing a thumb over Gilberto’s grimacing mouth. “Oh, well. Your loss, not mine.”

Volpe opened his mouth to respond and was interrupted when Niccolò slid two fingers past his lips, catching his tongue.

“Suck,” Machiavelli said, his tone low and rough. The hand around Volpe’s wrists tightened almost to the point of pain—almost. This was a game, after all, and Niccolò was wroth to cheat at games. It spoiled the win. Volpe knew that, but it didn’t make his lover’s aggressiveness any less exciting.

He procrastinated for several seconds, just long enough to make Machiavelli’s brows furrow, and then Volpe ran his tongue over the fingers in his mouth, humming quietly, narrowing his gaze up at his lover. Niccolò bit his lower lip, resuming the gentle rocking of his hips, wanting more than anything to force that devious mouth back onto his cock. That would be tantamount, however, to losing the game. He pulled his fingers from Volpe’s mouth with a wet pop, checking that they were well coated before pushing them into his own ass with an exaggerated groan. Volpe’s eyes narrowed.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?” Niccolò exhaled shakily, closing his eyes, and the second time his moan was very real when he found his prostate and rubbed down against it, every touch leaving hot tendrils of want in its wake.

“Just… stop.” Volpe let himself be lax beneath his lover’s body, watching Niccolò pleasure himself, waiting. There—the grip around his wrists loosened, just ever so slightly. The thief twisted free with one swift movement, throwing his startled lover onto his front.

“Wh— _fuck_!” Niccolò writhed when he was impaled, Volpe’s hard cock penetrating him without warning and going deep. “Ungh—G-Gilberto—”

“ _Tesoro_ ,” the thief breathed, and Niccolò felt the curve of a smile against his bare shoulder.

Machiavelli grunted, struggling to get comfortable, releasing a shaky cry when his member was enclosed and pumped hard. Volpe didn’t give him time to adjust—he was too riled, too heated, and his hips seemed to move of their own accord, plunging him deep inside his lover, pulling out, snapping his way back in and relishing the boy’s gasped moans. The sound his hips made when they met Niccolò’s ass was delicious, nothing short of filthy. Volpe rolled them over onto their sides, making himself comfortable against Niccolò’s back and hooking a hand beneath his leg to hold him open while he fucked back into that slick warmth.

“Ahh—fuck—f-fuck—” Niccolò clutched the arm that encircled his shoulders. Volpe’s thrusts were shallower, less filling, but the angle was such that the head of his cock hit his lover’s prostate _just so_ , rubbing him hard and long before withdrawing. “ _Fuck_!”

“Does it hurt?” Volpe asked, a little breathless, his hips slowing.

“Yes! Fuck, keep going!”

The thief grinned and bit his lover’s neck, driving himself back in. A hand reached back and wound tight in his hair, pulling until it hurt, and Volpe thrust harder in response, wriggling his arm between Niccolò’s legs and grasping his cock, using it as leverage to pull himself deep inside his boy.

Niccolò’s cries had turned to soundless gasps, his face buried in Volpe’s arm. He needed to come so badly it hurt. His cock was too hard, he was too full, stretched wide for his growling lover, the mouth that placed kisses along his shoulder was searing him where it touched—

“Come for me.” Volpe’s voice was rough, almost broken, a whisper in his ear. “I want you to come, _tesoro_.”

Niccolò stiffened, gasped, crested—and came hard, almost sobbing, struggling to grind against the thickness in his ass and the hand that pumped his cock at the same time. Volpe’s grip on his shoulders was steady and strong, and it was that arm that Niccolò focused on even as he spilled all over the mattress. Shaking, he twisted his upper body around enough that he could pull the thief in for a deep kiss, tangling their tongues, tasting the man he loved. Volpe moaned against him, the jerking of his hips becoming unsteady, each thrust making Niccolò, over-sensitive now, gasp loudly.

“Gilberto.” He spoke against his lover’s mouth, low and reverent, wrapping an arm around the older man’s shoulders to pull him closer. Machiavelli grinned, ended a kiss with Volpe’s lower lip between his teeth and released him with a quiet moan. “Your turn, _amore_ …”

“Mm.” Volpe pushed him onto his back, fucking him even as they rearranged, and held him close, taking his young lover’s face in his hands and resting his forehead against the boy’s. “Nn—Ni—”

Machiavelli purred, sliding his hands up his lover’s shirt, teasing his nipples with gentle touches before clutching his shoulders, thrusting up against the bruising pressure of Volpe’s hips. “What’s that?”

Volpe huffed out a breath, pressed his face into the boy’s shoulder. “Ni— _Niccolò_ —!”

The younger man tensed, gasping sharply when Volpe spilled inside him, his cum hot, wet, awakening Niccolò’s want all over again. Volpe collapsed against him, groaning, licking hungrily at Machiavelli’s pulse and pulling lazily at his cock.

“The hell...?” He cracked an eye open, peering down at the length in his hand, and chuckled. “ _How_ are you hard again?”

“Because you keep fucking _touching_ me…” Niccolò grunted and arched into his lover’s hand, twisting his fingers in Volpe’s dark hair and moaning into the hot kiss that was pressed to his mouth. Volpe pumped him with swift, sure strokes, smiling when the boy came again with a cry, cum dribbling from his spent cock, a miserable reminder of his much prouder ejaculation earlier.

“Better?” he asked, kissing a puckered nipple and earning himself a grudging groan. “Didn’t quite catch that, sorry.”

“I said, fuck _off_.”

“Ah.” He let his kissing turn to licks, lazily exploring his lover’s chest with his mouth, feeling sated and comfortable. Niccolò seemed to content to lay back in his arms and let him play; the hand in his hair had gentled, caressing, and Volpe purred when fingers dug in behind his ear. “Ooh, there. That’s nice.”

Machiavelli chuckled. “You are such an animal.” He winced when Volpe pulled his soft cock free, rubbing his lower back. “In more ways than one. Damn. Like hell am I riding back to Florence tomorrow.”

“Like hell I was going to let you ride back to Florence anyway,” Volpe grumbled, wrapping an arm around the boy’s waist and tugging him closer.

“Mm. Gilberto?”

“ _Tesoro_ ,” Volpe answered sleepily, his mouth pressed into Niccolò’s hair.

“Before you nod off, pass me _Inferna_ , will you?”

Volpe sighed, slapped a hand against his grinning lover’s ass, and rolled onto his side, straining to reach the book that had fallen off the bed.

 

 


End file.
